


Fantastic Wizards and How to Woo Them

by OreoCheesecake



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-02
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-09-03 18:52:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8726257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OreoCheesecake/pseuds/OreoCheesecake
Summary: Things Credence thought he would gain from joining Newt Scamander: free magic lessons, a wand of his own, and a kind mentor.Things Credence got instead: a job as a zoo janitor, a bowtruckle named after him, and an awkward wizard with a distracting oral fixation.Credence regrets this decision very, very much.





	

 It was supposed to be his grand entrance after weeks spent spying on the mysterious redhead. Instead, he appeared out of a tiny wisp of smoke with a small 'pft' sound.

  
"Hullo," Credence said.

  
"Hello," Scamander said back. He didn't even look up from his work desk, busy squirting fluid out of a spiky ball of sorts. Credence had gotten used to witnessing Scamander's strange proclivities, but it was the muted reaction that gave him pause.

  
"You don't seem all that surprised to see me."

  
"I know you've been watching for a while," Scamander said, matter-of-factly. He directed his smile toward the creature in his hand rather than at Credence. "Pickett told me. I'm hoping you had the decency to look away whenever I changed?"

  
Credence scoffed. "Don't flatter yourself. Of course I did." Sometimes.

  
He expected Scamander to further the conversation, but the man didn't. He simpy kept squirting things with his stupid animal. The act looked obscene, in a way, but he might've been biased. His adoptive mother, after all, called a lot of things obscene. Like wearing brown belts with a black suit, and leaving the toilet seat up.

  
Feeling awkward, Credence had no choice to but to will himself into dissolution. At least that was one advantage to being an obscurial: you could literally descend through the floor if the situation was embarrassing enough. So he did just that.

  
He had expected this first meeting to go a lot differently.

* * *

 

"I guess you'll be living with me, then," Scamander said cheerfully, when Credence finally mustered the courage to make another appearance weeks later. He seemed to be in a better mood, which Credence had been banking on, appearing right on the cliffs while Scamander played with his mooncalves.

  
"I was hoping."

  
"Hoping?" He spared Credence a momentary glance before turning back to his mooncalf and nuzzling his nose against its forehead. Credence ahem'd, to no avail. It seemed the only way to hold Scamander's attention for long was to be the only living being in the immediate vicinity, which was impossible in this scenario.

  
"That you could teach me magic," he said, more confidently. "You're a wizard."

  
"That, I am," Scamander said, stroking the creature's neck now. The mooncalf had gone completely stiff. Credence ignored the phallic imagery and felt hope swell inside him.

  
"So, you'll teach me?"

  
"Of course, Credence. You don't know how glad I am to have you here."

  
"Are you good at magic?" He couldn't suppress the excitement in his voice.

  
"Well, I'd call myself more of a scientist than a sorcerer at this point." Credence narrowed his eyes.

  
"Ah." Well, it was better nothing.

  
"And I only have one wand, which I can't lend to you because it's mine."

  
"Oh?"

  
"And in exchange, it would only be fair for you to help me take care of the beasts, so you can be in charge of cleaning duty for now on."

  
"Well," he said helplessly.

 

"And just so you know, I was kicked out of wizarding school, but trust me, I know a thing or two about magic."

  
There was no reason to panic, Credence urged himself.

* * *

 

  
He was busy sweeping up the fallen leaves around the bowtruckle tree. His arms ached from all the manual labor he'd been doing lately, and it had been weeks since Scamander agreed to their deal with nothing to show for it. Still, Credence tried to be patient. Since then, he'd scrubbed, swept, and picked up increasingly large sizes of animal waste with newspaper. And to think, he once considered handing out flyers exhausting.

  
Scamander lay on a cot nearby, gripping two bowtruckles and discussing something animatedly with them. Credence was strangely reminded of his little sister playing with dolls.

  
"You don't talk much," he said, taking a stab at conversation.

  
"Neither do you?" Newt said, then whispered something (that was probably more substantial) to his bowtruckles, and Credence heard their resounding giggles and realized this conversation was dead before it had even started.

  
"I don't know what to talk about," he said, sweeping the ground harder than he meant to. The rake left deep slash marks on the soil. Credence gave up and propped it up against the fence. "I have a suggestion. We should do that thing people do," he said, walking up to the other male, who blinked up at him.

 

"Enjoy each other's company in complete silence?"

  
"No. Banter. We should banter. People do it. In New York. A lot." Scamander stared. What followed was the longest awkward moment Credence had ever experienced. And that was saying something, considering as a child, he once badgered a war veteran with a stump knee, demanding to know where he was keeping his real leg.

  
Scamander was looking past him, at the fake horizon, clearly uncomfortable. He should've known that conversing about conversation wasn't going to go anywhere.

  
"I'm not good at talking to people," he admitted slowly, gazing at his own lapels as his bowtruckles clambered onto them.

  
"Me too. But I'm sure there's something we have in common that we can talk about." There was another awkward silence. An animal that fittingly resembled a tumbleweed rolled by, chasing a billywig.

  
"Terrible posture," Scamander said brightly, complete with a snap of his fingers like he had just solved an age-old problem. Credence was confused, until he realized that Scamander was trying to point out their common interest. "I have it because it looks less threatening, and so I'm seen as more approachable to others." By others, Credence figured Scamander meant animals. "How about you?"

  
Well, at least he was finally trying. Even if he wanted to compare medical conditions, it was something. Credence bit his lip. How could he even begin to explain that the reason he hunched so much was from years of efforts to look more child-like and get more food stamps? "Same," he sighed out instead, and promptly vanished.

* * *

 

He was growing attached to the bowtruckle tree. Not because the bowtruckles were interesting, mind you, as he felt, compared to the other wonders of the wizarding world, 'sticks that could move' wasn't exactly up to par with the rest of it. But the tree was the easiest to maintain, and he soon familiarized himself with the entire tribe living there.

  
He tapped one of the nooks in the tree and a small bowtruckle clambered out and clung to his finger. He smiled at it.

  
"Credence, what have you got there?"

  
"Oh, this little guy? He was hiding." Scamander drew closer, and Credence looked at him. Unexpectedly, they were smiling at each other, or rather, grinning at each other's general direction. Had they ever done this before? It was weird. For the first time, something stirred in his stomach that wasn't a feeling somewhere in between disappointment and dread.

  
"I've never even been able to get him off the bark. He must really like you." Suddenly, the magizoologist snapped his fingers, a twinkle in his eye, as if he had just had a brilliant realization. "Credence 2," he whispered, looking at him.

  
"I'm sorry?"

  
"I hadn't named him yet. That's his new name. Credence 2." Excitement tinged Scamander's voice. Inwardly, Credence was scrambling. It was, quite frankly, the worst name he'd ever heard, and Scamander expected him to feel honored about passing it on to a flimsy piece of stem?

  
But he wanted so desperately to learn magic.

  
His smile grew lopsided as he gazed back at Scamander. "It's a great name," he said.

* * *

 

"Do you like animals?" Scamander asked him out of the blue one day. Credence wondered if this was it: the test to determine whether the other man wanted to keep him around or boot him out of the case. If he said no, he couldn't even imagine what Scamander would do. Maybe flay him alive and feed him to the graphorns.

  
"I love them," he replied, thinking guiltily of all the pigeons he used to swat at with broomsticks. "Definitely."

 

"Then you'll love this!" Scamander produced a large box, and Credence looked into it and almost gagged.

  
"Flobberworms, you'd think they were the simplest creatures to exist. Even a toddler could bewitch them. But we're going to transfer them to their new area beside the paddock." Scamander turned his head dramatically, beckoning at the paddock fifteen feet away. Credence fought down the bile rising up his throat. He was squeamish, he admitted it. These things could barely pass for creatures. They were fleshy green lumps that reminded him of Mary Lou's face after her nightly facial care routine.

  
"When I finish," he said, already grabbing the box. "Will you show me some magic?"

  
"Oh, o-of course," Scamander said, blinking in a manner that suggested he had forgotten about their deal entirely.

  
"Done!" Credence announced, practically skipping to the end of the paddock and throwing the box at the ground. Scamander's face contorted in disapproval at the rough handling but he walked closer and patted Credence on the back.

  
"Look, they're overjoyed," he cooed. Credence stared at the wiggling creatures, befuddled. They didn't have faces so how Scamander could gauge their emotions, he had no clue. Sparks suddenly erupted from their backs, and Credence jumped back in surprise. Scamander was laughing at him.

  
"You wanted to see magic, didn't you? There you have it. Beasts have magic of their own."

  
"I thought you meant you'd show me a spell or two," he said petulantly.

  
"Wait right here," Scamander said, casting him a knowing look before taking off. Credence swallowed. He was so used to Scamander averting his gaze that when the beastmaster _did_ look at him, it felt so unusual that he tended to lose track of his thoughts.

  
"I'll do you something better!" Scamander returned, brandishing one of his bowtruckles and a wooden plank. Placing the plank flat on his palm, the excited man deposited the browtruckle onto it. It was wearing a very small top hat.

  
"Watch," Scamander said, voice dropping to a dramatic whisper. And slowly, the bowtruckle kicked out its leg. And even more slowly, kicked out its other leg.

  
It was doing the world's slowest can-can. Credence gaped, speechless.

  
"Eh? Eh? Wasn't that just amazing?" Scamander said, and twirled his finger at it, which was apparently the signal for it to take a bow. It bent over, and he was partly afraid it would snap in half.

  
Credence couldn't hide his look of bewilderment. "I guess?"

* * *

 

"Mr. Scamander," he said, frustrated. He felt the jagged edges of his locks, dismayed at the pervasiveness of his undercut. Three things, he concluded, should be made illegal. The first was broken promises. The second was unflattering haircuts. The third was Newt Scamander eating a banana.

  
He happened to be breaking law number two, while Scamander was currently trampling over law number three.

  
"I cut my hair," he began, trying to ignore the way Scamander was stuffing a large section into his mouth. Did he have to eat it in such big chunks? Focus, Credence. "I don't know how but it grew back the exact same way just now."

  
"That's a good thing, Credence," Scamander said. He paused to swallow the last of the fruit. Credence closed his eyes in relief. Thank God. "Your powers are taking into account your wants and desires and acting accordingly, in a much less aggressive fashion."

  
"I don't want this. I've always hated this haircut. People called me Salad Bowl all the time."

  
"I don't think so. I find it endearing. You remind me of a hinkypuff gonopod." He reached out to pat his head, but Credence drew back with a wounded noise. Scamander tended to say things while doing things showing he had no fundamental understanding of what he'd just said, but this was too much. He glared at the other man, irritation emanating in waves. "What's wro--"

  
"Don't!" he yelled, his anger getting the best of him. He was working so hard, and yet it struck him all of a sudden that he hadn't learned a lick about magic since he got here. Other than the fact that he was going to be stuck with this bowlcut forever, and Scamander had the gall to unintentionally arouse him and then make fun of him in a span of a few seconds. Conflicting emotions were mixing and causing a chain reaction to bubble up. The obscurus crackled with indignation and Credence, furious, let it sweep him up into a ball of smoke.

  
"Credence!" Scamander froze as Credence tore through sections of Scamander's shed, knocking over furniture and scaring the fwoopers. He vanished with a yell, retreating to a place where he felt less unwanted.

 

Which happened to be the bowtruckle tree, right outside. Credence huddled against it, willing the obscurus to calm down. He felt foolish now that he'd finished his tantrum.

  
"I would like to apologize, Credence," came a gentle voice, and he looked up to see Scamander cautiously stepping toward him. The shed behind him had holes in it. He hunched further. The obscurus was quiet now; instead, guilt was what wracked his body.

  
Scamander knelt in front of him, and chewed at the inside of his cheek before speaking. "After giving it much thought I realized it wasn't the best thing to say that your hair bears a passing resemblance to a male organ."

  
"That's okay," he said hoarsely. "I'm sorry... I knocked over the beetle sculpture. That was actually my favorite chair." Scamander gave him a strong, piercing look, which was something he never did, so it nearly made Credence's heart stop.

  
"What is it?"

  
"Credence, those were dung beetles. That was dung."

* * *

  
It was unusual for Scamander to be the one to approach him. But a few days later, he did. Just the image of him drawing near did funny things to Credence's pulse.

  
"I've got something for you," he said. Credence gasped when he offered out his palm.

  
He picked it up. It looked nothing like Scamander's wand, which was symmetrical and shiny and well-sculpted. This one was... Not. It was a ruddy brown color, with splinters on both ends and bent oddly at the half-way mark. The wand was thinned and thickened in various parts, with a strange knotted area near the tip. He could've sworn there was a very tiny leaf poking out of it.

  
"A wand. Mr. Scamander... I don't know what to say." Actually, he had a lot of things to say. He just knew better not to say them.

  
"It looks different from yours," he said, trying not to sound disappointed.

  
"Picky, aren't we?" Scamander replied. "I'm afraid this will have to do for now."

  
Credence realized he was being ungrateful and, smiling, adjusted his grip. It wasn't so bad; he could learn to love this wand easily, especially since Scamander clearly went through such trouble to procure it for him.

  
Jokingly, Credence waved the wand and chanted the first spell that came to mind. " _Abra kadabra!_ "

  
To his surprise, Scamander bolted toward him and quickly snatched it out of his grip, tossing it to the ground as if it were an explosive.

  
"Don't ever say those words again, please," Newt said. His face was pale and he was still shaking.

* * *

  
"Is that considered proper wand-holding technique?" He asked. Scamander had been mixing potions, while Credence was busying himself with some of Scamander's old spellbooks from school.

  
"Waf?"

  
"The thing", he pointed. "With the teeth." He pointed at his own lips, and Scamander's brows furrowed until he realized what Credence was gesturing at. The wood between his teeth reminded him of a horse's bit. Or a gag. Belatedly, he wondered if Scamander was into that sort of thing.

  
"Oh!" Scamander spat his wand out.

  
"Do wizards do that a lot? Should I do that, too?"

  
He had a lot of questions. Like why was everything in the wizarding world so steeped in innuendo?

  
Scamander waved him off with a laugh. "Well, sometimes I need use of my hands. But no, you can only summon magic when you hold the wand in your fist. Any other body part and it becomes a risk."

  
"And yet you hold it in your... Mouth."

  
"So?"

  
"You're content with keeping it constantly wedged in the one orifice necessary for immediate survival,"

  
"What's your point?"

  
"Not more than ten inches away from your brain."

  
"I don't get the connection. Oi, have you cleaned the grindylow tank yet?"

  
He rolled his eyes and disappeared.

Grindylow dung was the hardest dung to clean. It was white and stringy and immediately contaminated the tank, so all the water had to be replaced. This required Credence to manually catch each grindylow, stick them into buckets and then drain the water into the savannah biome -- for fertilizer, as Scamander explained -- before sticking a hose in the tank and waiting for hours until it filled up. Not to mention having to return each grindylow.

  
He sighed as he saw how much work there was to be done. The water in the tank was murky and the grindylows looked ready to pick a fight.  
Credence pulled out his nub of a wand.

  
" _Accio_ water drop," he whispered, pointing it at a splash of water on the tank. It trickled down the pane, ignoring him.  
He had an idea.

* * *

  
"I've decided that I don't want to be your janitor anymore. I can help you out in some other way."

  
He had forgotten, that Scamander sometimes used the outdoor shower. He hadn't counted on appearing right next to him, the magizoologist dropping a loofah in shock. His face reddened immediately, but he was much too polite to tell Credence to sod off.

  
"Oh? And this was matter was so urgent that you had to ambush me in the bath?" Credence tried not to look down. It was difficult not to follow the trailing flush down Scamander's otherwise pale, freckled skin.

  
He looked into his eyes instead, stomach twisting uncomfortably when he realized that no one had the right to look that good while wet and soapy. 

  
"I'm going to protect you," he declared.

  
"From the... Shower curtain?"

  
"From danger."

  
Scamander laughed, and swiped a lock of hair that was plastered to his forehead. Credence looked away. "Danger's harmless. She just bares her teeth because she thinks I find it amusing."

"No," Credence wondered which creature was named Danger. Probably a cute harmless one. Newt liked to be ironic that way. "I mean danger, the abstract term. What kind of person names someone after a concept?"

  
Scamander, in all his soaking, naked glory, frowned at him. "Your name is _Credence._ "

  
He nodded. "I'll let myself out."

* * *

 

Determined to never have to shovel up another pile of dung again, Credence practiced everyday. He would aim his wand at various objects and chant spells for hours on end, ignoring how foolish he felt when nothing happened. Ignoring the strange odor that emanated from his wand and seemed to be getting stronger with every passing day.

  
" _Accio_ newspaper," he said for the hundredth time, and it trembled for a second and then lay still.

  
"Credence, I'm really proud of you," A passing Scamander said, and Credence ignored the fluttering sensation in favor of the chance to experience another meltdown.

  
"This is stupid. I can't do this." With fury running through his veins, Credence turned to a nearby tree instead. It was one they were planning on chopping to replace with a seedling.

  
" _Ligna caedentes_ ," he whispered, flicking his wand.

  
" _Ligna caedentes._ " He said it more powerfully this time. When nothing happened, his hands started to shake. The obscurus was pulsing excitedly, awaiting the loss of control... He couldn't let that happen. So he tried to distract himself with different thoughts, and the first image that came up was a blushing, soaking wet Newt Scamander.

  
" _ **Ligna caedentes!**_ " Credence yelled instead, channeling all of his rage and sexual frustration on the damn tree. There was a loud rumble, and it split cleanly in half, both sides falling opposite of each other and hitting the ground with a thud.

  
He panted.

  
"Merlin's beard," Scamander said, his eyes wide.

 

* * *

  
Credence was breathless when he materialized, and immediately started tugging the seated man to his feet. "Mr. Scamander, look what I managed!" He didn't care that he was talking and yanking like a child. Scamander laughed and followed him to the paddock, crossing his arms as he watched Credence get into position. Credence pulled out his wand.

  
" _Wingarium leviosa!_ " He chanted, and with a swish and flick, the flobberworms floated out of their box, suspended and squirming in the air. Credence grinned at Scamander expectantly.

  
The other male was looking at him with an unreadable gaze.

  
"I have something to confess."

  
Credence felt his heartbeat quickening. For some reason, the idea of Scamander confessing something to him made him feel unusually giddy. He gulped.

  
"What is it?"

  
Scamander fidgeted for a moment before answering.

  
"That's not a wand."

  
Credence's face fell. The flobberworms descended a few feet. "I... What? But--"

  
"That's actually a dead bowtruckle," Scamander explained. "More specifically, that's Credence 2's grandfather's fossilized remains." Credence made a face. The wand fell from his grip. The flobberworms hovered close to the soil.

  
He stared at the offending item on the ground. Credence 2 had perched on that thing. What had he done? He had made Credence 2 dance using his grandfather's corpse as a stage.

  
"I'm not allowed a wand, actually," Scamander said, averting his gaze. "It's complicated. But I wanted to make you happy, and sort of do an experiment. To create a placebo effect. And it worked, didn't it?" He forced out a smile.

  
"Credence, you can do precise wandless magic without any form of training. You can cast spells without a medium for channeling your power. The obscurus, rather than a wand, is acting as your conduit." His expression brightened and he closed the space between them.

  
"That's incredible. You're an amazing wizard, you know."

  
Credence was still looking down, at the dead bowtruckle he'd been tricked into wielding. He can't believe he had even gone through the trouble of polishing it.

  
His mind had gone blank.

  
First, he had been promised power. Then his mentor dubbed him a squib. Suddenly he was an obscurus, a word he still couldn't pronounce properly. And after that, realizing he had been duped into using a fake magical artifact, which allowed him to learn real magic... It felt like everything had come full circle. Somehow.

  
Scamander had called him a _wizard_.

  
He expected to get angry. But instead...

  
Tearing up, Credence pulled the other male into a hug, burying his face into his shoulder. Scamander's hair smelled like the forest.

  
"Mr. Scamander," he murmured. "I don't know how to thank you."

  
"I'd rather have your forgiveness," Scamander said. He patted Credence's back hesitantly and Credence, realizing how awkward this must feel for him, drew back. Flobberworms swirled around them.

  
"Forgive you? You had me carrying around a dead animal in my pocket for months." He paused. And then shrugged. "Been there, done that."

* * *

 

A Nundu. Scamander had once told him that it took one hundred wizards to subdue it. So Scamander was either vastly exaggerating his abilities in magizoology or had hidden social skills all along. The latter was very unlikely. He didn't think the other man had even spoken to one hundred people in his entire life.

  
Credence had known better than to get closer to the Nundu. It pawed at him occasionally from its big rock, but he had the reflexes to dodge the giant spiky paw every time. Only today, he was not as lucky.

  
He was headed to the tank, having charmed a series of grindylow-bearing bubbles to parade behind him. The water had just been changed (it took a complex conversion spell that Credence had discovered himself) and so his spirits were high.

  
As a result, he was more careless. When the Nundu swiped at him, he reacted in surprise. The bubbles immediately burst, and the grindylows splattered to the floor.

  
This upset the Nundu, which leapt to its feet, throat puffing up an angry glowing shade of orange. Credence took a step back in horror, a burning odor already permeating his nostrils.

  
"Danger!" Scamander yelled, popping up a few feet away. Yes, there was obvious danger, Credence thought exasperatedly. He wasn't that stupid.

  
Scamander was waving his arms and sputtering, the Nundu baring its teeth at him as it turned in his direction and snarled.

  
"Danger, Danger! Credence, we have to contain her, Danger can be very dangerous--" (he thought as much) "--if agitated--"

  
Oh. _This_ was Danger, Credence realized, his eyes widening. Dark smoke was already wafting out of the Nundu's mouth.

  
"Her breath can wipe out entire villages," Scamander said, sweaty and pale as the creature advanced. "Credence, if she roars, everything in here will _die_ \--" The Nundu opened its jaws. Credence leaped and hoped and willed.

  
"Mr. Scamander, watch out!"

  
He pushed Scamander to the floor and raised his palms just as the beast let out a deafening roar. Flames spewed out through its gaping maw, but Credence grunted and, using his magic, felt around for them. They were flowing in and out of his magic's grip, but he could sense them. That's what was important, and he concentrated on restraining the licking flames, containing them behind an invisible barrier.

  
The fire shrank into nothing, and the Nundu closed its mouth, puzzled. It collapsed on the rock, now clearly uninterested in causing mayhem and destruction.

  
Credence panted. His hands hurt. He turned around and knelt down. Scamander was sprawled on the floor, pushing himself onto his elbows. His clothes were charred slightly, and his face was crimson, from the heat no doubt.

  
"I told you I'd protect you wouldn't I?" he said, hand curling around Scamander's nape. The man looked awestruck.

  
"Credence," he whispered, eyes bluer and wider than ever. Credence sensed the tension building between them, so he began to close the distance between their mouths.

  
"Now my herb garden is gone," Scamander suddenly said, averting his gaze, pushing himself up and away from Credence. He looked utterly forlorn, even biting his lip. The charred black box he was staring at nearby looked sad and empty.

  
At that point, Credence had never resented him more. He had just saved them both from a fiery death, and all Scamander cared about was his basil. Pushing himself to his feet, Credence ignored the irritation crawling through his skin. He turned away from the other male and conjured more bubbles, levitating the grindylows into them and proceeding on his way like nothing happened.

  
He couldn't believe he had wanted to kiss the despair out of this ridiculous man. But maybe, he thought, maybe Scamander was just that dense. For better or for worse, he decided that he needed a moment to tell Scamander how he felt.

* * *

 

His great pick-up line ended up being "Mr. Scamander, we're both kind of lonely, aren't we?"

  
"We are?" Scamander was in the middle of collecting cracked eggshells and placing each piece into a basket. "No, we're not," he added absently.

  
"You cry in your sleep."

  
"No, I don't," he denied again, and smiled nervously at Credence. Which meant that inside, he wasn't smiling at all. "It's allergies."

  
This wasn't going according to plan.

  
"Oh? What are you allergic to, then?"

  
"Bowtruckles."

  
He couldn't suppress the scoff that escaped his throat as he threw up his hands. "Then maybe don't carry one in your coat at all times -- You know what, forget it." Scamander's rambling was infectious but he needed to get back to the topic at hand. "I'm going to be... Upfront."

  
Scamander didn't respond, still hunched over the basket.

  
"Mr. Scamander, didn't you hear me--" he said, not liking how needy he sounded. Scamander finally sighed and looked up, placing his hands on his hips and looking skeptical.

  
"Yes, Credence?"

  
"Here I go." And then he did a series of stomping motions and twirls. He made grunting noises and then dove to the ground. Any erumpent would've been smitten easily. And Scamander should have been, too. He had worked so hard--

  
"Your rhythm is off."

  
"What?" Credence said, freezing mid-dance. He was caught in an awkward position, tiptoeing and jutting out his butt as if he were sitting on an invisible chair.

  
Scamander chewed on the inside of his cheek before answering.

  
"It's supposed to be done at four beats per measure, but you're alternating between three quarter beats and three-eighths at various intervals."

  
Something in his chest abruptly died, and it was probably not the obscurus, much to Credence's dismay.

  
"That's it? I showed you all of that and you criticize my tempo?"

  
"It was an impressive performance. Keep at it." Scamander looked away in a manner that suggested that it was anything but.

  
Credence realized belatedly that perhaps expressing his feelings to Scamander in that manner hadn't been the best course of action.

* * *

  
"Oh, what have we here?"

  
Credence stopped the watering can mid-tilt, which didn't really change anything as water continued to stream from its holes into the bowl he had installed on the bowtruckle tree. He didn't look up, though, still hurt about Scamander's rejection weeks ago. He hadn't practiced magic since, the prospect of never being a wizard seeming more impossible than ever because he felt so low. At this point, he didn't mind becoming a magical gardener.

  
It wasn't such a bad title, but...

  
"This is brilliant." The awe was evident in Scamander's voice. He was looking at the bowtruckles in wonder, as they feebly wiggled their limbs while in the dish. Making sad attempts at splashing each other with water. Credence stared at Scamander, whose eyes were unusually bright. "I used to have to syringe-feed them one by one," Scamander murmured while reaching out to stroke Credence 2. That was not the Credence that needed stroking, he thought, and almost slapped himself.

  
"It's just a makeshift bowtruckle bath," he said, horribly embarrassed by this entire ordeal. He'd been inspired by his adoptive mother's attempts to rid their house of pigeons using baths laced with rat poison. But he couldn't divulge _that._

  
Scamander was scrubbing furiously at his eyes , and Credence felt dread well up in the pit of his stomach.

  
All he did was put a bowl on a branch and yet Scamander was now on the verge of tears. Credence's lips parted, apologies about to tumble out, when Scamander leapt at him.

There were cold, grass-stained hands on his cheeks and Credence felt himself tugged forward, Scamander's lips meeting his in a gentle kiss. Smoke was coming out of his ears, he could practically feel it -- or maybe that was the obscurus, but he didn't know nor care anymore. He wanted to be locked into this position forever, with his hands snaking around Scamander's waist and that lithe body pressed against his.

  
Scamander pulled back, brows crooked from puzzlement and smiling shyly, like he too was wondering what had just happened. Credence was gobsmacked. He had never encountered someone so grateful for the act of doing the magical equivalent of watering someone's plants.

  
"I'm sorry." Scamander said, a hand trailing down Credence's cheek. Only a man as strange as him would apologize after making his dreams come true, and this made Credence smile widely.

  
"Please don't apologize, Mr. Scamander," he said softly. Their faces were still so close that he could feel Scamander's frantic breaths of air on his cheeks. The other male was flushed. Credence wanted to kiss him again and see how many permutations of red he could turn.

  
"Call me Newt," he said, and Credence grinned and leaned in to steal the name off his lips.

  
"Newt," he murmured, and then kissed Newt again, who laughed into his mouth.

  
" _Newt_." He had a feeling he was going to be saying that very often.

* * *

 

"Newt, How many times do I have to tell you to stop doing that thing with your wand?" Credence materialized beside him, and Newt simply rolled his eyes.

  
"Why sh-ould I?" He said, or rather tried to say with a mouth full of wood. Credence took the swooping evil from Newt's hands and let it levitate in the air while extracting the juice into the vial using his magic, so the magizoologist had no choice but to drop his wand from his mouth onto his hand, like he was spitting out used gum. It was a funny sight.

  
"Bet it's full of bitemarks by now," Credence said, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. Newt swiped back the creature and finished the extraction, primarily to annoy him.

  
"Part of its charm," Newt shot back.

  
"You might snap it in half one day," Credence teased. The swooping evil cocoon was deflated, though both men were no longer paying attention it.

  
"It's not like I have the jaws of a serpent, Credence. I don't understand why you have such a problem with it." And in an act of defiance, Newt placed the wand in between his teeth and smirked. "Honesh-tly," he added, quirking an eyebrow at him. Daring him.

  
"Because whenever your mouth's occupied, it makes it harder to do this."

  
Credence tugged the wand from Newt's lips and quickly replaced it with his mouth. He pressed Newt back against the desk, their tongues sliding enthusiastically against each other's, and Credence had a far away realization, that perhaps for the first time since his arrival: he and Newt had successfully bantered. And for that moment, he felt triumph mixed in with his current state of arousal.

  
But when Newt grabbed his hair and tugged, moaning into his throat as Credence ground his hips against his, he realized that banter was sorely overrated.

 


End file.
